Regrets
by Joermungard
Summary: Ariadne knows there's something wrong between Arthur and Eames. She just can't figure out what it is.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Inception. I just own my own mind and the regrets which made writing this story so easy.

**Author's Note**: For now, this is a one-shot. Let me know if you want me to go on. Reviews are love.

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It's not hard for Ariadne to notice that there is something going on between Arthur and Eames.

Not in the "I caught them making out in the storage closet" kind of way.

In the "when they pretend they're teasing each other they actually mean every unfriendly word" way.

When Arthur first introduces them, he warns her not to let Eames pickpocket her – and though he makes it sound like a joke, she can tell from his eyes that he really thinks that Eames would steal from her if given half a chance.

When Eames laughs at Arthur flailing as Yusuf pushes him over to test the kick, it's not so much because it looks funny (and yes, she giggled a little bit herself) but because his fall looks like it actually hurt.

Eames is better at disguising it – or maybe he means it less. Although he occasionally snarks about Arthur's lack of imagination or uptightness, it's nothing compared to the way that Arthur makes it clear that he thinks Eames is an idiot about anything that is not Forging. Or the way he looks at Eames like he's something disgusting to be found on the bottom of a shoe. Especially when Eames calls him "darling."

They work well together, though. From the way they complement each other in their different approaches to the way they seem to anticipate each other's actions it's clear they've worked together before.

And she enjoys their company – separately, of course. She enjoys Arthur's quiet focus and his seemingly endless patience with her, his willingness to work with her until she understands every facet of her job, his boundless devotion to getting it all just right. He makes her feel like she is completely safe in this unstable world, because no matter how crazy it gets down there, there is always his calm presence making sure she's all right.

Spending time with Eames is completely different – even though he is dedicated to the job, he's also intensely invested in getting her out of it every now and then, on making sure that she has a life outside of the workshop. He drives her to classes and takes her out for drinks in the evenings and jokes and flirts and even though he tries to pass himself off as a bit of a creep she comes to realize that behind that façade there's a big softie with a weak spot for her, a big brother who, in his own way, is just as interested in keeping her safe and sound as Arthur is.

She tries not to let it bother her – this thing between Arthur and Eames, this... meanness that sometimes chills the whole warehouse where they are preparing the impossible Inception. Whatever it is between them, it's none of her business, and she's much too focused on wrapping her head around the whole shared dreaming thing anyways to try and puzzle out what is going on between those two. There are too many mazes waiting to be built.

But she does snatch the opportunity when it presents itself. They are doing yet another practice run of the hotel dream. Arthur is taking the opportunity to explore the whole complex Ariadne has dreamed up for him and Cobb and Saito are discussing financial and legal arrangements in the lobby when she slides onto the bar stool next to Eames. She orders a white wine and silently clinks it against his glass of scotch, and he cocks a lazy eyebrow as if to say _I know you're dying to ask, so ask already_, so she does.

"How long have you and Arthur known each other?"

It's not quite the question he expected, apparently, but he doesn't have to think about the answer anyways. "Twelve years, give or take a few months." He smiles at her incredulous look. "I've known him ever since I got into the dreaming business. We were very young back then."

She doesn't say anything, just sips her wine and does the math. _Twelve years_. They must have been younger than she is now when they started out – she's not exactly sure how old Arthur is but he can't be much older than thirty, if that. He must have been around eighteen, barely out of high school, when he somehow ended up dreaming for a living. _The military_, she thinks, _of course_. He told her himself that they developed the shared dreaming program for soldiers to practice shooting, stabbing and strangling each other. And even though Eames is a few years older than Arthur – three, four? - he must still have been very young, too. She wonders briefly what they were like back then, before she focuses back on the real (well, dream-real) Eames in front of her. A softer-looking one – as if the memory of all that past has touched something in him that he can't quite suppress.

"Why do you hate each other's guts so much?"

His smile flickers a little. "That's a story for another day, pet. Come, have a drink and a shag with me instead. I bet you dreamed up some spectacular beds in this place." And just like that, he's back to the Eames she knows, the loud, cock-sure one whose jokes are always just a little on the wrong side of lewd. But she doesn't mind too much.

"Yes to the drink. No to the shag, _pet_." He laughs and shrugs, showing that he knew she'd say _no_ but had to ask anyways.

They wake up and neither mentions their conversation again. But from then on, she watches them both more intently – particularly Eames – and occasionally, she catches a glimpse of that softer man she saw at the hotel bar. He only slips up when he's tired, late at night, or when they've spent an excessive amount of time practicing in dreams, and it's as if a curtain lifts and for a second or two it's not the teasing, leering Eames who's looking over at Arthur, but a vulnerable, regretful stranger full of longing. But within the blink of an eye, the normal Eames snaps back into place as if he'd never been gone, and sometimes she's not even sure if she isn't just imagining things. At any rate, the two men remain distant (except they rile each other up any chance they get) and she doesn't have the time to think about what happened because what's going to happen is so much more important right now.

When Arthur steals a kiss from her in the dream, she knows one thing for certain: that kiss really was just a distraction, he has no more desire to kiss her than to kiss, say, Saito. She almost asks him then and there what happened between him and Eames, but she restrains herself because this isn't the time or the place and she knows he won't answer her anyways. Soon they are in the hotel room getting ready to go into the next dream level, and she catches a glimpse of the genuine smile Eames gives Arthur when he hovers over him with the needle, and the way that smile falters when Arthur answers "Go to sleep, Mr Eames" in that clipped tone of his.

After the Inception is over – they have made it out, as unbelievable as that sounds – she waits for Fischer to walk away with his suitcase and then she grabs Eames and hustles him into a cab without listening to his protests. Because in that moment when she saw his smile collapse in on itself, she understood, in a flash of clarity, that whatever happened between him and Arthur still hurts like crazy.

In no time at all, they are at the bar of the Marriott – him with his scotch, her with her white wine – and she tries again.

"What did he do to you?"

He's so astonished that his mask cracks and slips as he whirls around to look at her. "Whatever do you mean, pet?"

"I see how you smile at him sometimes. And how he never smiles at you." She knows she doesn't have to say who she means, she can tell from his face that crumples for a second and then smoothes itself out.

"What makes you think it's him that did something to me?"

"Wasn't it?"

He leans back in the armchair he's occupying, twirling the glass in his hands. She begins to think that he's not going to answer, that she has overstepped the line this time. But finally he sighs and speaks into his whiskey.

"No, it's nothing Arthur did to me. It's what I did to him."

She knows the surprise shows on her face. How can it be Eames who hurt Arthur? Eames, with his charm and smiles and his banter and his never-ending enthusiasm, who hurt Arthur, feeling-less, perfectionist, stick-in-the-mud Arthur?

"But... you're nice" she manages to splutter, before realizing how inane that sounds. "I mean you act like a jerk but you're actually a nice person. And Arthur is..."

"...cold as ice?" He smiles bitterly. "Do you really think he was always like that?"

"I don't know, wasn't he born in a three-piece suit?"

When Eames looks at her sharply, she can tell he actually _pities_ her, though she can hardly imagine what for.

"No, pet, he wasn't like that. Not at all. The Arthur I first met..." he pauses a moment and takes a swig from his scotch. "The Arthur I first met was a sweet kid. Crazy with excitement about dreaming. Full of joy about the job. And caring. Caring like crazy." Another sip of whiskey, another smile at her disbelieving look. "Oh yeah, he loved taking care of people." He mimics Arthur's voice. "'Are you hungry, Eames? Thirsty? Are you sure you're not working too much?' Cobb would laugh at him and go 'Do you want a blanket, Eames? Do you want me to carry you around for a bit?' and Arthur would blush but he'd fuss over me anyways. Believe it or not, I was actually the more professional one of us back then." She snorts into her wine, the idea of an Arthur who's solicitous and an Eames who's professional seems so insane it actually makes her giggle. He seems to be drifting off into his own thoughts, nipping at his drink and staring at some faraway point only he can see. Finally, she pulls herself back together.

"So what happened?"

He gives himself a shake and focuses back on her. "We were young. We fell in love."

She motions at him to continue.

"We were on fire, Arthur and I. We burned so bright – we burned so bright for each other it felt like we would be consumed by it, like we were burning alive, but it didn't fucking matter because we were together and we were on fire." He turns to her and looks at her, really looks at her like he hasn't ever since this conversation started. "Have you ever been so crazy about someone it literally felt like you couldn't breathe? Like you were half of a whole?" If he sees her flinching at this unintentional quote of Mal, he doesn't let on, he's so intent on making his point. "When you burn like that, you burn yourself out. As if you put too much current on a lightbulb and it gives out all its light at once and then implodes." The sorrow in his eyes is all-encompassing. "I took the coward's way out, if you want to know. I couldn't bear to watch us implode. So I ran off with some idiot architect and told myself that I liked him better anyways." He shushes her sound of outrage. "I got what was coming to me. The guy was a waste of time and I've been alone ever since. And Arthur... well, he became the guy you know now. The Arthur I loved – I'm not sure if he still exists. And it's because of me. He wasn't cold when we were together. He was flesh and blood, not stone. He didn't wear three-piece suits like they are armor and he didn't plan every single detail and he _smiled_ – he smiled all the time. I haven't seen him smile in years, Ari."

And just like that, he's clinging to her shoulder, choking his guilt out, and she's making soothing noises and they stay like that for a very long time. It's surreal, having this grown man sobbing into her side over Arthur – over an Arthur she's never met – and knowing that no matter how much he messed up back then, it's not enough for him to deserve to feel like that now. She disengages herself from him gently and holds him at arm's length, looking him straight in the eye.

"Eames, are you still in love with him?" It would have seemed like an insane question an hour ago. This whole conversation is still mindboggling to her – because she expected _anything_ but this confession, because this is Arthur and Eames and they freaking _hate_ each other, because the Arthur he is describing is a mythical creature and the Eames before her is just as outlandish – but it seems so painfully obvious now.

She doesn't expect him to jerk and straighten up like that, for the mask to snap back on without any warning. "Don't be ridiculous, pet. The Arthur I love is long gone."

And it isn't until she's back in her hotel room a few hours later that she realizes that he said "love", not "loved."

He texts her the next morning while she's waiting for her plane back to Paris. Just one word: "Always."


End file.
